


lord, don't let me break this

by joshllyman



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety, Depression, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-20
Updated: 2019-09-20
Packaged: 2020-10-24 22:16:35
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20713409
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/joshllyman/pseuds/joshllyman
Summary: In his mind’s eye, Kageyama sees their relationship the same way he sees a volleyball on the court. Hurtling, hurtling, hurtling toward him, and Kageyama will be able to grasp it for the briefest of moments before letting it go again.They taught him how to let go. No one ever taught him how to hold on.





	lord, don't let me break this

**Author's Note:**

> Content warning: if discussions of mental health, particularly with regards to a character's depression and anxiety, bother you, this may be a work for you to skip. There is a vague description of an anxiety attack in the second segment of this story. Be safe friends.

The libero receives the ball, bumps it up into the air.

Kageyama follows the ball's every movement: every spin, every rotation. He follows, too, the movement of the other players on the court, each of his teammates, each of his opponents. In his mind's eye he calculates a hundred possibilities in the time between the ball touching the first receiver and the ball coming to him, and by the time it falls to him he lifts his hands, sets it to Hinata, and Hinata slams it down for a kill on the other side of the net.

All of that effort for a few hundredths of a second of contact with the ball. Over and over and over, all game, until they win. Every play, every game, all season, Kageyama lets go.

Letting go is all he knows how to do.

\---

They're sprawled in their bed, uncomfortably close to each other because the space is barely big enough for one college boy, much less three. They generally don’t mind. Kageyama's in the middle because they have to be the most accommodating of his height; it's easier for the other two to shove themselves in around where Kageyama's body fits rather than Kageyama trying to find space around them. As it stands, Kenma is at the foot of the bed, propped up against the wall, his legs laying across Kageyama's feet, and Hinata is curled into Kageyama's side, head resting in the crook of his arm, hand flat against his chest, just above his heart. He's being uncharacteristically quiet and still, and Kageyama has already checked several times to see if he's asleep, but he does so again, and finds Hinata's bright brown eyes looking up at him. Hinata's lips quirk into something of a smile.

"You're staring," he observes, his hand fisting in the fabric of Kageyama's t-shirt, his face scrunching up in that breathtaking way that Kageyama doesn't think he'll ever get used to. He swallows past the dryness in his throat.

"Shut up, idiot," he mumbles, and he tries to soften the harsh blow of his words by dropping a kiss to the top of Hinata's head. Hinata hums, a content noise that Kageyama knows to mean _ I'm right and you know it _. He stares up at the ceiling, drawing deep breaths through his nose, pushing them out through his mouth, feeling the weight of Hinata’s hand rise and fall each time he does so.

"Tobio," Kenma says, and Kageyama's eyes are drawn to him. He's looking at the two of them through half-lidded eyes, the ghost of a smile lifting up one half of his mouth. "Could I lay next to you?"

Kageyama blinks at him, and Kenma looks back unwaveringly, and Kageyama manages to stutter out “if you want.” Kenma hesitates, briefly, but Kageyama sees it for what it is. Then he lays down and settles himself into Kageyama, mirroring Hinata’s position, except the hand across Kageyama is lower, resting against the exposed strip of Kageyama’s skin where his shirt is riding up. His eyes flash up to Kageyama’s—_ is this alright? _—and Kageyama nods, a jerky movement that disturbs Hinata, who reaches across and pets two fingers down Kenma’s cheek. The intimacy makes Kageyama’s stomach drop out from beneath him. Kenma catches the way Kageyama’s breath hitches, looks up at him with knowing eyes, then looks over to Hinata, beckoning him with a glance. Hinata goes easily, meeting Kenma halfway, their heads tilting with the knowledge of how the other will move, their mouths meeting, Hinata’s lips parting immediately for the swipe of Kenma’s tongue. Kenma’s fingers are tracing patterns into Kageyama’s hip, his nails scratching lightly, the sensation too-much and not-enough at the same time. Kageyama’s breath pushes past his lips in a whine, and Kenma pulls away from Hinata and looks down at Kageyama with satisfaction. 

“You’re squirming, Tobio,” Hinata chides, laying back down and providing Kageyama with the grounding weight he needs. His hand finds the back of Kageyama’s head and tilts upward for a kiss, messy and hot, the taste of Kenma evident on his lips. Kenma has pushed Kageyama’s shirt up to expose his navel and he continues his infuriatingly light touches, fingertips dancing across Kageyama’s skin. Kageyama lets his mouth go slack against Hinata’s, lets him lick and suck the way he wants, lets him push his tongue past Kageyama’s lips, too much, too intense. His heart is pounding so furiously, his lungs struggle to fill with the air he so desperately needs. Kageyama chokes; there’s suddenly a mouth against his stomach, and Hinata backs off so Kageyama can see Kenma smiling serenely up at him, his chin resting just against Kageyama’s waistband.

“Wait,” Kageyama says, closing his eyes. Hinata and Kenma both move away, and Kageyama forces himself to think past the pounding in his head, the uncomfortable ache in his pants, the jittery feeling in his limbs. “I’m gonna sit up, if that’s okay,” he murmurs, and they scoot together at the head of the bed so Kageyama can occupy the foot. He criss-crosses his legs and rests his elbows on his knees and buries his face in his hands. He counts the things he can hear (Kenma’s even breathing, Hinata’s worried fidgeting, the creaking of the old mattress as Kenma moves to surround Hinata with his arms, the low hum of the heater), the things he can feel (the weight of the others in the bed, the too-heavy feeling of the fabric of his shirt, the softness of the blanket bunched in his fist), the things he can smell (the candle Kenma had lit earlier that night, vanilla and pumpkin, Hinata’s desire, soaking through his pants and presumably leaving a wet stain in his boxers), the things he can taste (iron, from where he’d bitten his lip too hard when he sat up). He skips the things he can see, because that would require him to open his eyes, and he can’t do that right now. He breathes the way Kenma taught him, in on a four count, out on an eight. The fuzziness slowly begins to disappear from his brain, and he feels a hand on his upper back. He turns back to them slowly, and Kenma’s arm falls back into his lap.

“I’m sorry,” Kageyama says, his voice strangely hoarse, and Hinata exhales, loud and slow. With a glance back at Kenma he crawls over to Kageyama. Kageyama presses his back against the cool surface of the wall and lets Hinata into his lap, his legs wrapping around Kageyama’s waist, arms around Kageyama’s neck, head resting against his shoulder.

“I love you,” he murmurs into Kageyama’s ear. When Kageyama tenses he hastens to add “you don’t have to say it back. I just want you to remember.” 

Kageyama tilts his head back against the wall and stares at the ceiling again, letting Hinata’s weight drag him back down to earth, and when he looks over at Kenma again the other boy’s bottom lip is sucked between his teeth.

“Will you...can you come over here, please?” Kageyama asks, reaching out a hand to him, and Kenma moves to sit beside Kageyama, his head falling against him, an arm reaching around Hinata’s waist. Kageyama counts each of the individual points of contact between himself and Kenma and Hinata, focuses on each of them in turn, as Hinata’s breathing deepens and evens out. Hinata is letting out quiet snores before Kageyama speaks again.  
“I’m sorry,” he repeats, and Kenma looks up at him, sharp and perceptive in a way that has always thrown Kageyama off balance. 

“Please, Tobio,” he says. He moves his hand to Kageyama’s face, cups his jaw, grips him just a little too tight. “You have to stop apologizing for things that aren’t your fault.”

Kenma keeps looking fiercely into his eyes, refusing to look away, refusing to break contact, refusing to let go of his hold on Kageyama, and Kageyama finally has to close his own, taking in a shuddery breath as he does. 

“I wish I could be what you want.”

“You are what I want,” Kenma answers without hesitation. Kageyama opens his eyes, and Kenma still hasn’t moved. “You...Tobio, you’re exactly what I want. Shouyou, too. We want you.”

All Kageyama can do is shake his head, rest it against the wall again, and let Kenma’s quiet sigh of disappointment settle itself over his heart.

\---

In his mind’s eye, Kageyama sees their relationship the same way he sees a volleyball on the court. Hurtling, hurtling, hurtling toward him, and Kageyama will be able to grasp it for the briefest of moments before letting it go again.

They taught him how to let go. No one ever taught him how to hold on.

\---

Kenma’s on the couch, head absorbed in a video game, wrapped in three blankets and a sweatshirt. Kageyama can see him from where he’s standing in the kitchen, fussing with the stir fry he’s attempting to make for dinner. Hinata hasn’t made it home from a late study session. The phantom feeling of _ run _ that settled into his bones the other evening hasn’t dissipated yet, and Kageyama has to actively focus his waking hours on not boarding a train and finding somewhere else on the island to take his troubles. His grades are going to suffer from his inability to take a single goddamn note in any class, and he imagines Kenma’s dissatisfied face and feels his stomach churn. He pokes uselessly at a pepper and sighs.

Arms wrap around his waist from behind; a kiss is pressed between his shoulder blades, and Kageyama turns to find Kenma behind him, hood still pulled up over his head. Kageyama’s eyes flicker over to the television, where a pause menu is displayed, and he looks back at Kenma.

“Dinner’s not ready yet,” he says. “I’ll let you know.”

“I know it isn’t,” Kenma replies. He rests his head against Kageyama’s chest so that all Kageyama can see is the fabric of his hoodie. When he speaks again his voice is muffled and Kageyama can feel the vibrations of it all over. “I just wanted to hold you.”

Kageyama doesn’t understand this. He especially doesn’t understand Kenma pausing a game for this. He fidgets, not settling, until Kenma looks up at him with a soft smile. 

“I missed you today,” he says, open and honest in the way he always is, and it takes Kageyama’s breath away. 

“I…” Kageyama begins, but whatever was going to come out of his mouth is swept away by the sound of the key in the lock and the door being thrown open. Kenma doesn’t move away from Kageyama, just settles against his chest again, and Hinata’s shouted greeting goes unanswered by both of them. Hinata shows up in the threshold of the kitchen a moment later, bag still slung over his shoulder, and is greeted by the sight of Kageyama hesitantly resting his chin on the top of Kenma’s head. Kageyama meets his eyes, and his smile shines brighter than the sun.

“I’m so getting in on that,” Hinata says, and Kenma adjusts so that his ear is flat against Kageyama and he can look at Hinata.

“Don’t leave your stuff in the entryway,” Kenma says, and Hinata bounces off to the bedroom to toss his bag down.

Kageyama focuses on the pattern on Kenma’s hoodie and mouths the words “I missed you, too.” He can’t find the voice to say them aloud.

Hinata joins them, wrapping himself around Kageyama's back. "Kitchen cuddles," he says, his voice muffled. "Heck yeah."

"I'll have to get back to dinner in a minute," Kageyama warns them. "We don't want it to burn."

"You're stuck now, Tobio," Hinata says, burying his nose deeper, grip tightening on Kageyama's waist. "We're not letting go."

Kageyama freezes, and slowly Kenma raises his eyes to look up at him. Kageyama blinks down at him, mouth dry.

Kenma reaches over and turns the burner off. "We're not letting go," he repeats, words slow and deliberate.

Kageyama forces a deep breath and rests his forehead against Kenma's. "Right. Okay."

They end up ordering takeout.

\---

He’s told them this. They are fully cognizant of Kageyama’s inabilities, his shortcomings, his failures, and they keep holding on to him, and that scares him more than anything.

\---

The bed is empty when Kageyama wakes on a Saturday morning. A glance at his phone tells him it's nearly eleven, and he tosses it aside with a frown. The spots on both sides of the bed are cold enough that Kageyama can tell the others have been gone for a while. He tosses the blankets to the side and stands, shaking out the wrinkles in his pajamas and the sleep from his bones. 

When he pads into the living room, he finds Kenma and Hinata on the couch. Kenma is curled up tightly on one end, strongly resembling a cat, his phone in his hands and his head on Hinata’s lap. Hinata’s in the middle, his eyes trained on some American cartoon, a spoon halfway between the bowl of cereal balanced precariously in his lap and his mouth. He must hear Kageyama enter, because without looking up he sets the bowl on the table in front of him and lifts his arm, indicating that Kageyama should join them. 

Kageyama hesitates, and he isn’t sure why he does, except that they look comfortable and he doesn’t want to disturb them and he’s hungry, maybe, and should find something to eat.

Hinata huffs and tears his eyes away from the show long enough to look up at him. “Tobio, you’ve been asleep for ages. Come snuggle me.”

Kageyama’s feet move of their own accord, magnetically attracted to Hinata’s voice, and he finds himself on the couch beside Hinata. He tucks his feet up underneath him and rests against Hinata’s side. One hand finds Kenma’s head and he runs his fingers through Kenma’s hair. Kenma sighs contentedly.

“Did you sleep well?” Kenma asks, not looking up from his phone.

Kageyama grunts noncommittally. He steals the bowl of cereal that Hinata had been consuming and takes a few bites before Hinata protests and cuffs him lightly on the side of the head. 

“I’ll get you more,” Kageyama offers, and Hinata shakes his head and leans over for a kiss instead.

“It’s the principle of the thing,” Hinata says against his lips. Kageyama huffs and pulls the bowl back to himself.

“How do you eat this stuff, anyway?” he questions. He spoons another bite into his mouth and doesn’t pause before continuing. “It’s like ninety percent sugar.”

“How do you think he got so sweet?” Kenma asks, and Hinata’s eyes shine as he looks down at him.

“Kenma!” he croons, leaning over into Kenma’s space, nosing against the very little of his skin that’s exposed, and Kenma lets out a giggle.

Hinata’s busy kissing Kenma, so Kageyama finishes the bowl and slurps up the milk. Caught up in each other, they don’t notice him reseat himself on the other end of the couch when he returns from putting the bowl in the kitchen sink. Kageyama digs his heels into the couch and wraps his arms around his knees and fights the urge to fall back asleep.

\---

Eventually. Eventually they’re going to let go. It’s inevitable; that’s how the game works.

He doesn’t know what he’ll do when that day comes.

\---

“You’re entirely distracted today, Tobio-chan.”

Kageyama tears his gaze away from the sidewalk and looks over to Oikawa. He’s got a navy jacket on, a scarf wrapped around his neck, glasses perched low over his nose. He’s giving Kageyama a wry smile.

“Really, how am I supposed to regale you with tales of the National team if you aren’t even listening?”

“Sorry,” Kageyama grunts, not feeling very apologetic. He takes a sip of his cider. 

“I suppose I can forgive you,” Oikawa says, and Kageyama rolls his eyes. They walk in silence for ten or twenty more steps before Oikawa offers, “You wanna talk about it?” 

Kageyama pulls his own jacket closer to him, his hand fisting in the fabric at his neck. “Not especially.”

Oikawa bumps their shoulders together gently, careful not to slosh the latte in his hands. “If you change your mind.”

“How’s Takeru?” Kageyama asks, hoping to shift attention back off himself.

“He’s a little shit,” Oikawa replies, his eyes narrowing. “He’s too smart for his own good and he knows it, he pushes every one of my buttons and gets away with absolutely everything.”

Kageyama considers his next words carefully, electing to put a step between himself and Oikawa before saying, “He sounds like you when you were that age.”

Oikawa frowns deeply at him. “I was much cuter.”

Kageyama huffs a laugh as they continue walking. It’s become something of a thing, this walk-and-talk they do. Any time Oikawa’s in town, he sends a message to Kageyama, and they meet up for coffee. The first time they’d met up, they’d tried to sit, but it had been too awkward, and neither of them are particularly good at sitting for long periods of time, anyway. Kageyama had been the one to suggest the park, to let the silences be filled by the singing of birds and the chattering of squirrels and to give their legs something to do. The silences are fewer and farther between than they used to be.

“Bo-chan asked after your shrimp, by the way,” Oikawa remembers. He takes a sip of his coffee. “His specific words were ‘ask how my crow son is doing!’”

“He’s well, thank you,” Kageyama says, and it comes out more stiffly than he’d intended, and he can see Oikawa sizing him up out of the corner of his eye. 

“And Kenma?” Oikawa prompts.

“Also well. Thank you.”

“Tobio,” sighs Oikawa. He stops walking, and Kageyama nearly trips trying to stop his legs from continuing on. “What’s going on?”

Kageyama drains the remainder of his cider and crushes the paper cup in his hand. “Nothing.”

Oikawa snorts. “You don’t think I became the top setter in Japan by not being perceptive enough to see through that façade, do you?” 

“Shut up, asshole,” Kageyama grumbles.

Oikawa doesn’t move. He raises an eyebrow and crosses his arms in a frighteningly good impression of Kageyama’s mother. “Cut the shit, Tobio, and tell me what the hell is going on.”

“I’m not needed!” Kageyama bursts out, and he immediately wishes he could take the words back. He’s given voice to the thought that’s been haunting him, and now he won’t ever be able to escape it. His hands shake, and the cup drops to the ground.

Oikawa’s face changes from exasperation to confusion to pity, and Kageyama hates it, hates it so deeply and desperately that for a moment the desire to claw the look right off Oikawa’s face crosses his mind, and he has to bunch his hands into fists. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Kageyama scowls at him. “You know exactly what it means.”

“Yes, I do,” Oikawa agrees. His voice is calm and even, the opposite of the turmoil in Kageyama’s head. He bends over and picks up the cup at Kageyama’s feet. “I just want you to say it outright so you can understand how stupid you sound right now.”

“What the fuck?” Kageyama spits. “_ You _ sound stupid, you fucking prick!”

“If you’re going to yell at me, let’s try not to be in public,” Oikawa sighs, rolling his eyes. He grabs Kageyama by the elbow and drags him toward the parking lot. “I’d like to stay out of trouble today, if it’s all the same to you.”

Kageyama goes silent and resolves to stay silent. Oikawa leads them to his very nice car and Kageyama kicks the tire.

“How childish,” Oikawa observes drily. 

“Prick,” Kageyama repeats.

“Can you get in, please?” Oikawa unlocks it and sits in the driver’s seat, and Kageyama sits in the passenger seat with his arms folded. Oikawa clicks his tongue. “Seatbelt.”

“Where the hell are you taking me?”

“You walked here, yes? I’m driving you home, and you’re going to listen to me while I do you this favor.”

Begrudgingly Kageyama clicks his seatbelt into place.

“Tobio,” Oikawa starts as they pull out of the spot. “I can’t believe I, of all people, am going to give you relationship advice. Hajime will laugh his ass off when I tell him later.”

“Serves you right.”

“Relationships aren’t about need.” Oikawa takes another sip of his coffee, his eyes not leaving the road. “Relationships are about want. They’re about other things too, but the basis is want. Hinata and Kozume want to be with you, or they wouldn’t be with you. Of course they don’t need you, Tobio, don’t have such a big head.”

“You’re one to talk.”

Oikawa hums. “I suppose you have me there. Regardless, the point stands.”

Kageyama relaxes, marginally, and rests his head against the seat. “So what happens when they stop wanting me?”

“Have they stopped yet?” 

Kageyama looks over at him. “No, but—”

“Then what makes you think they will?”

Kageyama blinks. “I’m me, Oikawa. There’s nothing desirable about me.”

Oikawa turns his head for a moment. “They wanted you in the first place, didn’t they? They want you now?”

“They’ll get tired of me.”

Oikawa scoffs. “You’re not some video game, you’re a real human being.”

There’s a silence over them. Kageyama weighs Oikawa’s words in his mind, twirling them around. 

“I felt the same, you know,” Oikawa says softly, softly enough that Kageyama barely catches his words. His eyes are fixed on the road again. “I was certain Hajime would get tired of me. He joked once, actually said I was tiring. I couldn’t look him in the eye for four days. When I finally told him what was wrong he hated himself for it. Promised he’d never say anything like that again, and that he would make sure I knew, every day, how much I mean to him.”

Kageyama bites his lip. “And he’s kept that promise?”

“Hajime’s never made a promise he didn’t keep.”

They pull into the parking lot of Kageyama’s apartment complex, and he eyes the steps upward with uncertainty.

“Talking to me about this won’t solve your problems,” Oikawa says. “You need to talk to them. Tell them what’s happening.”

Kageyama unbuckles his seatbelt. “Thank you, Oikawa. I’ll do my best. And good luck in your match next week.”

Oikawa nods. “We hardly need luck when we have Japan’s best setter on our side, but thank you.”

“Ugh,” Kageyama says, but something of a grin finds his face as he gets out of the car.

His legs feel heavy as he climbs the stairs to his apartment. Oikawa’s advice sits heavy in his skull, pounding and pushing in his brain, and there’s definitely a headache forming as he reaches the door. He fumbles for his key in his pocket but stops when he hears noise inside the apartment.

They’re noises of pleasure, to be certain. Hinata’s voice, crying out Kenma’s name loudly and unashamedly. They must be on the couch, to be able to be heard from the door. Kageyama imagines what they might be doing: Hinata in Kenma’s lap, their pants shoved to the floor, pushing each other toward the edge. Kenma’s mouth on Hinata, perhaps, his knees digging in to the uncomfortable hardwood. 

Tears form unexpectedly in Kageyama’s eyes, and he turns around and sinks to the ground, the door to the apartment holding him upright. The conversation he’d had with Oikawa disappears from his mind. 

They don’t need him for this. They don’t need him for anything.

It’s a long time before he manages to stand and let himself in.

\---

When a player isn’t needed, they’re benched. When they stop being efficient, when they stop being usable, when they stop. They go to the bench and watch and wait and maybe never come back into the game.

He’s headed for the bench. And when he goes out, he won’t come back in.

\---

"And then he was like, but Sensei, we didn’t even have homework last night!" exclaims Hinata, gesturing wildly with his hands, pulling Kageyama along with him.

Kageyama nods and grunts, and Hinata continues on with Kageyama really processing the words he’s saying.

He hasn't seemed to mind Kageyama's lack of meaningful responses as they walk home, or maybe he hasn't noticed, but either way he’s been talking non-stop. Kageyama doesn’t mind, per sé, but his heart is aching and there’s a lump in his throat.

He hasn’t talked to them about what he heard the other day. He hasn’t talked to them about what he discussed with Oikawa. He’s barely talked to them at all. 

Maybe that’s why Hinata’s so desperate to fill up the silences between them, he reasons. If he talks, then they’re talking, and nothing’s wrong and everything’s fine.

Kageyama looks down at him. He’s still oblivious, still chatting away.

Maybe he really has no idea. 

Somehow they reach the apartment again; Kageyama’s brain is fuzzy, his only real point of contact with reality the hand that is still held in Hinata’s, sweaty and clammy as it is. Hinata stands up on his tiptoes to give Kageyama a kiss before he lets them both into the apartment.

Kageyama blinks and follows after him.

“You’re home,” Kenma says, looking up from his game and offering them a small smile. Hinata kicks his shoes off and runs over to the couch, snuggling immediately into Kenma’s side. Kenma adjusts easily, lifting an arm and letting Hinata rest against him. Kenma looks over at Kageyama expectantly.

“Dinner,” Kageyama says, and he toes off his shoes and bypasses the couch for the kitchen.

He opens the pantry, trying to remember what he’d planned to make tonight. He’s crossing his arms and glaring at the spices when Hinata comes flying into the kitchen and jumps on him. Kageyama catches him, but glares down at him all the same.

“Ow?”

Hinata beams. “Knew you’d catch me.”

“Is that the point?”

“You always do, Tobio. _ That’s _ the point.”

Kageyama can’t find a response to that before Kenma appears in the doorway. He’s still wearing the small smile he offered them when they returned home.

“Come on, put your shoes back on.”

Kageyama sets Hinata down on the tile. “Why?”

“We’re going to the gym.”

“We just got back from the gym.”

“We’re going back to the gym now.”

Kageyama looks down at Hinata, who nods assuredly. “To the gym,” he repeats.

Kageyama sighs and closes the pantry. “I don’t get a say in this?”

“No,” Hinata answers. He grabs Kageyama’s hand and pulls him back toward the front door. “Come on, let’s go! Kenma’s gonna toss for us.”

Kageyama doesn’t understand this turn of events, but he lets the two of them pull him back out the door and across campus to the gym. Kenma is a much more participatory audience than Kageyama, so he feels less of a need to attempt to listen to what Hinata is saying and lets himself zone out. They’re pressed on either side of him, talking around him, and he wonders why they don’t just rearrange so he’s on the outside. It would be easier.

A lot of things would be easier if he were on the outside.

The autumn air is cold, and Kageyama’s hardly dressed for the weather in his practice shorts and an old t-shirt, and he no longer has the heat of just having finished practice running through his blood. He shivers, unwillingly, crossing his arms to try to hold himself together. Kenma and Hinata press in on either side of him; Kenma takes his elbow, and Hinata rests his head against Kageyama’s shoulder. 

Kageyama bites his lip to keep himself from saying anything.

They reach the gym, and Hinata and Kenma set up the net they just took down while Kageyama retrieves the basket of balls. He pushes it over toward the side, and Kenma takes the first in his hands.

“Thank you for coming, Tobio,” he says, blinking up at Kageyama. He reaches out and places a hand against Kageyama’s face, unnerving him entirely.

“Sure,” he mumbles, and he turns away and heads to the center of the net.

Here is the one thing Kageyama knows for sure how to do. The ball is tossed, he sets it up, Hinata spikes it down. Find Hinata, let him find you, seek each other out. Toss, set, spike. Toss, set, spike. Muscle memory takes over.

Volleyball is the constant in Kageyama’s life. When he has had nothing else, he has had volleyball. He has had his talent, his hard work, the sound of squeaking shoes on a floor, the smell of sweat and tears, the knowledge of victory, the bitter taste of defeat. 

And now he can no longer imagine volleyball with Hinata. At each other’s sides for years, through every win, every loss, they have had each other. Bus rides back from long tournaments, Hinata asleep across his lap in the back seat, their teammates laughing and Kageyama rolling his eyes but not wanting him to move, a kiss stolen in a locker room after everyone else had gone. And later, Hinata texting Kenma stupid selfies of Kageyama snoring, meeting up with Kenma after games in the city, tentatively reaching under tables and brushing hands against each other’s. Volleyball and Kenma and Hinata are completely intertwined in his head. 

If they didn’t have volleyball, what would they have? Kageyama pictures himself no longer playing, something he’s never done before, and wonders: will they stay when he can’t play?

An image forms in his mind: a house in a suburb. Hinata likes going out too much to live too far out into the country. A pool in the backyard. Kenma resting on a lawn chair while Kageyama swims laps and Hinata does a cannonball over his head. Coming home at the end of the day and finding both of them waiting for him. Kenma bringing home an incredibly decrepit looking cat from a shelter, raising him back to health. Cooking dinner for them. Ordering takeout for them. Getting a bed big enough that they don’t have to cram themselves in and falling asleep next to them every night, waking up next to them every day. 

When Kenma tosses the next ball, Kageyama catches it in his hands.

He doesn’t let go.

Hinata comes down from his jump and gives Kageyama a look. “I think you forgot to set the ball,” he says, tilting his head at Kageyama and frowning a little.

“I,” says Kageyama. He looks at both of them, wearing twin looks of confusion, and tears form behind his eyes. “I don’t have to let go.”

Kenma joins them on the court. “Tobio?” he asks softly. 

Kageyama drops the ball to the floor, and as it rolls off to the side Kageyama grabs Kenma by the front of his hoodie and smashes their lips together. It’s uncomfortable and teethy and Kageyama loves it, loves the surprised gasp he earns from Kenma, loves Hinata’s soft exclamation of “oh?” as they figure out the right angle and Kageyama swipes his tongue across Kenma’s bottom lip.

“Tobio?” questions Kenma again, pulling away, and Kageyama feels the smile on his face growing wider as he reaches for Hinata, now, who’s a little more prepared for what’s happening and meets him halfway, reaches up on his toes to let his mouth fall open against Kageyama’s. Kageyama lifts him by the waist and Hinata wraps his legs around him automatically, pressing their foreheads together, and Kageyama feels like he could fly.

“I don’t have to let go,” he repeats, breathless, and Kenma still looks mystified.

“Of course not,” he says. He reaches up and touches Kageyama’s face again, and Kageyama leans into it, feels his touch in every part of himself. “We’ve got you, Tobio.”

“Yes,” Kageyama agrees. He kisses Hinata again, because he wants to, because he can, because he can do this every day for the rest of his life and somehow he’s only just realized it. “Yes, you’ve got me. And you want me.”

“I really don’t understand,” Kenma says.

Kageyama leans over and kisses him again, and then Hinata kisses Kenma, and then Hinata kisses Kageyama, and Kageyama’s maybe crying a little but it’s fine, it’s fine, they’re together and they _ want _ him and he doesn’t have to give this up, not now, not ever.

“I’m an idiot,” Kageyama says, smiling, and Hinata huffs.

“If you’re just now figuring out that we want you? Yeah.”

“Shouyou,” Kageyama says, setting Hinata down, tilting his chin up and looking right at him, not hiding or trying to fight it. “I love you.”

Hinata’s breath catches, Kageyama can hear it, and then he’s beaming and saying “I love you, too, Tobio, you idiot.”

“Kenma,” Kageyama says, still smiling, and Kenma’s smiling back as Kageyama takes his hand and holds it to his chest. “I love you, Kenma.”

“I love you, Tobio,” he answers, and there’s more kissing and more crying and Kageyama never wants to let this moment go.

And he doesn’t have to.

**Author's Note:**

> This is not the end of Kageyama's journey to self-acceptance by any means, but it is the end of this story. Maybe I'll write more of this some day.  
Talking to Oikawa, while a good temporary solution, will not solve his problems. Kageyama needs to see a therapist, and if you also struggle with self-love the way Kageyama (and many others, including myself) does, you should also consider seeing a therapist. Honestly everyone should see a therapist, therapists are great.  
I also feel like I should note here that being in a relationship doesn't fix your self-esteem issues. I would know, I've been in one for seven years and I still struggle every day.  
Oikawa and Kageyama's friendship is so important to me.  
Title from Florence and the Machine's "100 Years."  
Come yell at me about volleyball boys on Tumblr, @joshllyman.


End file.
